


Reset

by baybscully



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Season/Series 07, post-Millennium, post-episode
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2015-01-08
Packaged: 2018-03-03 04:12:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2837567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baybscully/pseuds/baybscully
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-Millennium. Mulder and Scully ponder their next moves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He had been careless in his youth.

He’d known he had a gift – an uncanny ability to remember dates, moments, images – and he fervently collected as many as he could, as if they were prized baseball cards. But he hadn't accounted for how they would accumulate over the years, memories upon memories upon memories piling one on top of another. It wasn't until Mulder joined the Bureau, and began digging through the minds of serial killers, that he really considered the need to put his own mind in order.

He’d once explained his memory to his partner. He jokingly called it the “basement office” of his brain.

Some memories – mostly his earliest ones – were scattered about in a jumbled mess, making them difficult to retrieve. Mulder would occasionally rummage through them, searching for an elusive, happy moment he knew was there but couldn't seem to uncover. Then, inevitably, he’d nudge the wrong stack and other, unwanted memories would come tumbling out like an avalanche. For every pickup game out on the Vineyard he was able to recall, there was a night spent trying to comfort Samantha when their parents’ shouts became too loud to ignore; a Christmas with half as many presents as there used to be; a slap from his father that part of him would always believe he deserved.

Mulder had made attempts over the years to clean his memories up, sort them out, and organize them properly. Deep regression hypnotherapy and experimental medical procedures had offered glimpses of his buried past. A game of Stragego. A blinding light. His sister’s frightened screams. These are the ones he tacked to the walls – always on display, always a reminder to himself and everyone else of what mattered most – while the rest of his childhood was shoved back into precarious mounds to be dealt with later or not at all.

Then there were his more recent memories – the ones he had gathered during his time with the FBI, after he’d developed a more deliberate system. These memories were neatly organized. Mothmen and the Jersey Devil had their place alongside other creatures that went bump in the night; there was an “ancient civilizations” file and a “countercultures of the 1970s” file. But it wasn't just facts and trivia. Every meeting he’d ever been laughed out of, every dismissive comment from a colleague, every averted gaze in every corridor – they were all there, too. Categorized. Cataloged. Easily referenced.

“That’s a beautiful metaphor Mulder, but our brains just don’t work that way,” Scully had told him after his explanation. “Memories aren't stored in one area of the brain like files – they’re the result of neurons firing off in rapid succession, creating sensations in the amygdala and cortex, which are then encoded in the hippocampus and eventually stored throughout our brains. And anyway, memories aren't like photographs or videos. They’re malleable. They change and evolve over time. New memories can be encoded and incorporated with old memories, and some research even suggests that the act of retrieving a memory actually alters the memory itself.”

It was early on in their partnership, during one of their now countless cross-country flights together, but Mulder had already developed a fondness for her scientific soliloquies. When Scully paused, satisfied that she had made her point, he took a moment to consider the science before asking, “Did you know the hippocampus was named after its resemblance to the seahorse, whose scientific name is derived from the Greek ‘ _hippos_ ’ – meaning ‘horse’ – and ‘ _kampos_ ’ – meaning ‘sea monster’? The ancient Greeks and Romans described two-hoofed hippocampi pulling the underwater chariots of the sea gods.”

Mulder grinned at Scully’s raised eyebrow and slight smile. He could tell she was surprised, and maybe even a little impressed. He tapped his temple with his index finger. “It’s all up here. In the ‘Ancient Aquatic Folklore’ file.”

At that, Scully’s smile widened and she shook her head, allowing Mulder his victory on this particular subject. “So you have a file on everything up there?”

“Every _thing_ … every moment… every _one_ …”

The implication that Mulder was collecting memories of their time together – collecting memories of her – was not lost on Scully, but she didn't address it. She had suddenly become keenly aware of how little space there was between her seat and Mulder’s, with nothing but a narrow armrest separating them. She had also realized they were sitting in a dark cabin – she hadn’t noticed the sun setting outside her window while Mulder explained how his mind works.

She flipped on the overhead light and held up the case-file they had been discussing before their conversation took this unexpected turn. “So what’s in your ‘Experimental Military Aircraft’ file that’ll shed some light on these missing test pilots?”

“I thought you’d never ask.” Mulder knew Scully was purposefully changing the subject, but he did indeed have an extensive “Experimental Military Aircraft” file, and he was itching to tell his partner more about the X-30, the Aurora Project, DarkStar and other programs the military refused to acknowledge. But first, he took note of her squared shoulders, her clenched jaw, and the slight flush of her cheeks and added the image to a relatively new, but growing, “Dana Scully Facial Expressions” file.

_This is what Scully looks like when she’s flustered._

Mulder had been careless in his youth. But he had learned.


	2. Chapter 2

For seven years, he carefully curated a visual catalog of every expression to cross his partner’s face.

_This is what Scully looks like when she’s relieved._

_This is what Scully looks like when she’s intrigued._

_This is what Scully looks like when she’s simultaneously thankful that you’re alive and pissed at you for nearly getting yourself killed again._

And tonight, Mulder added another to his collection.

_This is what Scully looks like after you've kissed her._

As the agents made their way down the hospital corridor, Mulder’s arm draped across Scully’s shoulders, the New Year’s celebration continued around them. Twinkle lights and Christmas garlands still adorned the halls and doors. The final notes of “Auld Lang Syne” faded away and the unmistakable synthesizer intro of Prince’s “1999” came blaring from a CD player at the nurses’ station. Orderlies made their way in and out of rooms delivering glasses of sparkling cider, laughing and joking with the patients and with each other.

Mulder knew he should be taking in every detail and filing them away for safekeeping – he knew this was a memory he’d want to revisit. But his mind was back in the hospital waiting room, replaying the first moments of the new millennium. Dick Clark insisting there was “no time like the present” as the countdown began. The ball dropping. Smiling couples embracing in Times Square. And then that kiss.

_“The world didn't end.”_

_“No, it didn't.”_

This new expression of Scully’s was at once familiar and brand new, a mixture of surprise, pleasure, and… something else. Amusement? Mulder couldn't quite put his finger on it. But he wanted to see it again, and not just in his memory. In person. As soon, and as often, as possible. Of course, he would settle for his memories if he had to… Would he have to?

They’d reached the elevator at the end of the hallway. Scully stood directly in front of the call buttons, and Mulder waited for her to press the down arrow. And waited. With his right arm held against his chest in a sling, and Scully in her own world, his only option was to remove his left arm from her shoulders and press the button himself. He leaned against the wall with his good arm, distancing himself from her in order to get a better view. He was searching for an expression he recognized – some clue as to what she was thinking – but her profile didn't offer many insights. Then, as if sensing his eyes on her, she turned to look at him wearing an expression he had seen countless times before. For the first time since midnight, Mulder felt like he was back in familiar territory.

_This is what Scully looks like after you've told her “2 + 2 = Aliens” and she’s trying to work out her next move._

She opened her mouth to speak, and Mulder realized that this could be the moment of truth. Would she tell him they’d made a horrible mistake? Ask him what the hell he was thinking when he kissed her? Try to let him down easy? A sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach told him he wasn't ready to find out, and a wave of relief washed over him when the elevator announced its arrival with a loud _Ding!,_ giving him an opening to interrupt her before she even began.

“Have I ever told you my favorite thing about New Year’s, Scully?”

“I was under the impression I’d just experienced your favorite thing about New Year’s, Mulder.” Mulder could hear the smile in her voice as they stepped on to the elevator. Every time they came close to crossing the invisible line between “just friends” and “something more,” one of them would crack a joke to ease the tension. He knew exactly what to expect as he turned to face her.

_This is what Scully looks like when she’s giving you an out._

She peered up at him with one eyebrow raised and her arms crossed, just as he knew she would. Any moment she would break eye contact and lower her head as she had done so many times before in similar situations. She’d take a deep, centering breath, and when she looked up again it would signal that the moment had passed. Then, as usual, they would go on as if nothing had happened.

The predictability would have been comforting, if it weren't so disappointing. Mulder braced himself for the inevitable.

She didn't look away.

Scully had long ago given up trying to convince herself that her interest in Mulder was purely platonic. But she still had a long list of reasons why acting on her attraction was a bad idea. _It goes against Bureau policy. It could jeopardize our friendship. Bill might have you committed._ That list had been enough for years, but their midnight kiss had awakened her rebellious side like a subconscious Sleeping Beauty. Better judgment be damned.

She was ready to tell Mulder just that before the elevator had arrived and he’d changed the subject. It was then that another reason not to act occurred to her: _maybe he isn't ready._  It wouldn't be the first time Mulder had rushed into something headlong before considering the consequences. But if he wanted to back out, he was going to have to say so. So she made a joke and she gave him an opening. Then she locked her eyes onto his and stuck out her chin, willing him not to take it. He swallowed hard and his eyes widened, and Scully could tell she’d caught him off guard.

Mulder had seen this defiant look before. He’d been on the receiving end of it himself a few times. He’d seen it directed at her brother Bill and her mother and even at AD Kersh. Although he didn't have any way of proving it, he was certain Bill Sr. had been no stranger to it, either.

_This is what Scully looks like when she thinks you’re about to say something she doesn't want to hear._

Mulder wasn't sure exactly what Scully was expecting him to say, but she seemed more expectant than angry, so he decided to take a chance as the elevator doors opened and they stepped into the parking garage. “You’re right. But my _second_ favorite thing about New Year’s, is the clean slate. It always feels like a fresh start somehow. No matter what happened – or didn't happen – in the past year, no matter what you've done, or wish you’d have done but didn't… The new year always feels like a chance to get it right this time around.”

This earned him a raised eyebrow and a thoughtful nod. He was stating an opinion, but Scully heard the question in his voice. He needed to know if she agreed.

“I like that. It’s like a reset button.”

“Yeah,” Mulder grinned. “Like a reset button.”

“Well, Mulder, now you've got a new year, a new decade, a new century –“

“ – a new millennium,” he couldn't help but add. He smiled as she bit her bottom lip.

_This is what Scully looks like when she’s resisting the urge to correct you._

“I’d say that’s one big button you've got there, Mulder. What are you going to do with it?”

Her question hung in the air as they walked the final few yards to her sedan. She was parked next a large SUV whose driver had a very loose interpretation of the word “compact.” While Scully’s small frame had no trouble navigating the narrow path to her door, Mulder had to turn himself sideways in order to follow behind her. It was an awkward scene, to be sure, but Mulder knew that once she got in her car and drove away there was still a very real possibility that their kiss would become one of those things that they never spoke of again.

It was now or never.

“What about you, Scully? Anything you’d like a chance to get right this year?” He leaned against her car, trying to look cool and casual and, he was sure, failing miserably.

She took a moment to fish her keys out of her jacket pocket. When she finally responded, it was not exactly what Mulder was hoping for.

“How long did the doctor say you should wear that?”

“What?”

She gestured toward his right arm, prone against his chest. Mulder looked down and was reminded of his injury. Somehow nearly being zombie food had become the least memorable part of his evening. “About a week or so. Seven-to-ten days. Just until the deeper wounds start to heal and there’s no risk I’ll pull the stitches out.”

Scully nodded, assessing the doctor’s advice and finding herself in agreement. She ran a finger slowly down the length of the sling’s strap. Mulder had to remind himself to breathe. “Alright, then.” With that, she opened her car and moved to climb inside.

Mulder quickly righted himself and used his left arm to hold the door open. “You know, you didn't answer my question.”

She turned slowly, deliberately, to face him, sandwiched between her door, her car, and her partner. She looked down for a moment, then met his eyes. He had seen this expression only once before, ever so briefly, in the hallway outside his apartment. But where before there was sadness and questioning mingled with desire, now there was an electricity that shot to the back of his neck and ran down his spine. “Your question?”

When he was able to speak, it was little more than a whisper. “It’s a new year, Scully. Anything you’d like reset?”

“Mulder,” she began, her voice low and deep, “why don’t you ask me again in seven-to-ten days? You’re going to need both your arms to push my buttons.”

Then, in an instant, she was in her car and driving away. Mulder briefly entertained the notion he'd misinterpreted her, that he’d imagined the boldness in her eyes and her suggestive grin. But it was unmistakable.

_This is what Scully looks like when she is shamelessly, unabashedly flirting with you._

He looked down at his watch. _12:09._ The year was still young, only nine minutes old, and he spent the walk to his car recalling each one – creating snapshots of every moment. Blowing them up poster size. Placing them in frames.

He had been careless in his youth. But now he knew exactly what he was doing.


End file.
